


Sleeping Arrangements

by SylphofScript



Series: Everyday I'm Drabblin' [1]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Drabble, M/M, Mild Language, not really shippy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-03
Updated: 2016-04-03
Packaged: 2018-05-30 22:34:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6444703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SylphofScript/pseuds/SylphofScript
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Posted first on Tumblr of the same username. </p><p>Jim can’t catch a break from his brain and sleep a full night as often as he should. Bones takes this into his own hands and causes a short chain of events that result in a new sleeping situation for the captain of his ship.</p><p>Just a drabble, reworked from my previous attempt. Kind of fluffy, but not that fluffy. I don’t roll that way with my Space Husbands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sleeping Arrangements

Something was wrong with Jim, even he could see that when he looked in the mirror and watched the slow process of revving himself up to the standard he had set for himself all those years prior take just a little longer than the last time he had to do it. He sagged under the weight of his clothes or under the weight of nothing at all; his shoulders bent just a fraction too low and his head was no longer held quite as high even when he stood ramrod straight and tried to tell his reflection to cut the crap and start looking the part of captain. It never responded, and he always managed to get to where he needed to be before setting himself before all the people he needed to impress.

One time, it had gotten to the point where he had been almost convinced he needed to give up his ship — under the pretense of emotional compromise or inadequacy of leadership, he wasn’t exactly sure, he had planned on letting Spock handle that one once it had become clear to the both of them what it was that needed to be done — because he was clearly effecting his crew’s moral at times, despite how hard he tried to keep it under wraps. Most days his crew would never know something was up, almost all days. But there were moments, and when they happened, Jim was almost convinced it was too much.

Jim caught the looks they gave him when they were sure he would only chance at seeing them, saw the worry on Uhura’s face when she cut the com links after a discussion or meeting he had on his mandatory practice flight some months before, not matter who was on the other end or why they were contacting him. She knew how much it drained Jim and he knew it was pointless to try and hide anything from her when he so clearly couldn’t keep up the action, but he always did it anyway. Because this crew was his family. They didn’t need this on their shoulders, they didn’t sign up for this from their captain. They deserved better.

Sometimes, he felt like he needed to take that to the level he felt it deserved. In the end, he’d always back down.

Even though he owed them better than what he was giving them most days, and that was what he had decided would be his counter-argument when he entered the sickbay and saw a challenge in Bones’ eyes, the need to tell someone that he was going to resign more evident on his face than Jim had realized. Somehow, Bones had guessed at his intentions already, despite the fact that the request for an audience with Starfleet was still in Jim’s drafts folder and had only been half-typed. Bones somehow knew, and the fire in his eyes almost sent Jim in the other direction.

To his surprise, Bones didn’t say a word to him when he sat down on the biobed Bones had prepared, nor did he crack and snap at Jim when he screeched and protested each time a hypo was slapped against his neck, which, Jim stated clearly as he rubbed his neck, was obviously more than the usual allergy ones Bones gave him. He didn’t reply, just prepared another round.

Jim sulked on the bed. “Sometimes I think you’re just dosing me up with added placebo hypos just so you can hear me in pain,” he grumbled, and it’s at that Bones cracked a quick smirk. Immediately, Jim launched off the bed. “You are, aren’t you! They’re placebos, that’s why there are more than usual! _Bones_!”

“Hey, get back on the bed,” he snapped back, but Jim was out the door before Bones could close his fingers around Jim’s regulation blacks, abandoning his yellow uniform for another time, when Chapel was working. After a few moments and a couple quick maneuvers around the ship’s bends, he slowed. He didn’t really expect pursuit, not when half the ship would be filtering in for their regular hypos all throughout the day, but he still felt a twinge of disappointment when Bones’ boots were clearly not stomping along behind him in chase. Jim slowed to a stop, pressing his back against the wall of an empty hallway and catching his breath, head pressed against the cold metal and support bar digging sharply into the small of his back. He wasn’t granted alone time for as long as he would have liked, because a few moments later his First Officer rounds the corner and stops, peering at him in what would probably would have been surprise if he ever bothered to make any expression at all.

“Captain,” was all Spock said when he saw Jim. He replied with a nod of the head and a flick of two fingers against his forehead, still breathing too heavily to bother attempting anything vocally. “I believe you’re wanted in the sickbay. I heard Dr. McCoy shouting for you just moments ago. Perhaps you did not hear him?”

“Oh, I heard him,” Jim wheezed back, clutching at the bar that was now beneath his ass as he stood up straighter, laughing a little. “Bastard was giving me placebos along with my standard hypos. Like hell I’m going back in there.”

Spock tilted his head slightly, like he was processing the information with the gesture, but said nothing. Jim let go of the bar and nodded his head at Spock, ready to hide out in his quarters until Bones decided it wasn’t worth the trouble anymore and gave up until the next mandatory checkup. “Mr. Spock,” he said in farewell, and turned to leave the hallway. He didn’t get very far when Spock’s voice echoed behind him, effectively stopping him in his tracks.

“Captain?”

“Yes, Mr. Spock?” Jim heard Spock approach, but he didn’t turn again to look at him. Suddenly, he was too tired to do much of anything. Suddenly … he couldn’t stand. He grappled for the bars affixed to the walls beside him and missed, the world tilting and swirling in a blur of white and chrome. He heard Spock’s voice in his ear, something about a hypo and a sedative, then felt his arms latch around him and lift him up. The last thing Jim thinks of is not of the fact McCoy had secretly slipped him a sleeping aid, but that Vulcans were a lot stronger than he remembered, and then the blackness overtakes him.

 

* * *

 

He visualized never-ending darkness. Of cold and loneliness and loss, then of warmth and words and comfort. He’d call them dreams intermitted with nightmares, but he could barely call them dreams in the first place. Jim wasn’t even sure if he was asleep, or if he was dead.

The two states were strangely alike, he had found out, and every time he woke up it scared him half to death.

Which is why, when Jim woke up this time gasping and choking for air despite being able to breathe perfectly well just moments before waking up, he figured Spock had the decency to look vaguely alarmed as Jim clutched to his arm and tried to get his bearings.

“Captain? Are you aware?”

“Why the fuck am I clinging to your arm?” Jim croaked back, the realization of the situation coming to him all at once. He pushed the offending limb away and tried to sit up, but a firm hand held him to his bed. When had he gotten in bed? Jim looked around, disoriented, and then looked woozily at Spock from squinted eyes. It was too bright. “And what the fuck are you doing in my room?”

“Upon reaching your quarters I attempted to situate you in your bed and found myself … _indisposed_ due to your reluctance to release my clothing,” Spock replied curtly. Jim scrunched his face up and looked at Spock like he couldn’t understand what he was saying. “You had a very firm grip on my shirt, sir,” he tried instead when it was clear Jim wasn’t up for processing much just yet.

“Oh. Uh, sorry,” Jim tried, wiping the cold sweat that was beaded on his forehead.

“How long have you had such sleeping fits?”

“Sleeping fits?” Was he causing scenes even in his sleep, now? Jesus. No wonder people gave him weird looks when they caught him dozing in his office. “I don’t know,” he said when Spock didn’t reply, and then shrugged. “I haven’t really slept the same since I died.”

Jim could have sworn he saw Spock wince then, but then something in his mind decides not to question the legitimacy of the action and he moves on. “I have really weird dreams and usually wake up out of breath, like I’d been swimming the whole time I was asleep and forgot to come up for air.”

Spock quirked his eyebrow, processing that. Jim scrubbed a hand through his hair and decided he really need a shower. Like, now.

“Is Dr. McCoy aware of your new sleeping habits?” Spock questioned, watching Jim as he stripped off his blacks and paused with one leg out of his pants, underwear on display. Spock didn’t seem to care anymore than Jim did, and Jim didn’t give a single shit; other people who mean less to him have seen worse. He shrugged awkwardly from the position, swaying slightly off-balance for a moment before righting himself.

“Probably?” he tried, and shucked the pants off of his remaining leg, leaving them and his shirt in a heap on the floor that he’ll get back to at a later date. After a hot shower and three or five cups of strong coffee. He started to dig around for a towel. “I mean he did give me a hypo, probably hoping it would knock me out enough that I wouldn’t experience all the issues I normally have.”

Spock looked thoughtful at that. Jim could almost hear the “fascinating” that he’s forbidden him to utter when it comes to matters intimately involving his person. It was creepy. “Have you tried resting within the relative bounds of another?”

“You mean have I slept with anyone since the whole fiasco? Spock, do you really think I want someone to see me like that and have to go through the whole night next to it in bed?”

“It was merely an inquiry, Captain.”

Jim grunted and mumbled, “I leave before I can fall asleep.”

“Might you possibly be willing to give the idea a try, then? It might ease you to sleep with something that distracts the mind from delving too deep into unconsciousness, which might be the problem you are experiencing.”

“What did I _just say_ , Spock? I don’t want anyone having to deal with that. I’m not a good bang, bad night type of guy. You get a good full deal out of me or you get nothing, that’s just how I play.” Jim pressed his fingers into his eyes, feeling the migraine coming before it can even form. Dealing with Vulcans, he didn’t know why he did it sometimes.

“I was not implying you engage in intercourse,” Spock replied, “instead that you simply rest with another and see how it affects you.”

“You mean you want me to just sleep with someone, in the most literal sense? That’s even worse, you’re not getting anything good out of that kind of situation. If your reaction to how I was just now is any indication, I’m pretty clearly a terrible bedmate to have. I don’t want to put anyone through that.”

“It is a small sacrifice many are willing to make if you only attempt to request their assistance. Asking someone who is worried for your well-being will put them more at ease than continuing on as you are currently.”

“Oh yeah? Okay, then, if you’re so sure someone wants to suffer through that kind of shit, who do _you_ think I should ask first?”

“I will offer myself as the first subject if you find the pairing acceptable.”

Jim paused, hand clutched around a towel that he had finally managed to locate. It was kind of a strange request, he had to admit that, but Spock, aside from Bones, _was_ his closest friend and confident. Jim trusted him in ways he didn’t even trust himself. He didn’t see the downside in allowing him to try out his own theory, even if it _did_ make Jim feel like one of his test subjects. It wasn’t really a decision so much as a vocal acceptance that needed to be spoken.

“Alright, fine. Give me a time and we’ll do this thing.”

And that was how, one shower and thirty minutes later, Jim found himself saddled up against a stoic Vulcan in his bed, both of them clad in regulation sleepwear pants and Spock in a regulation shirt. Jim stared up at the ceiling from where he lay, arm pressed right up against Spock’s in the tiny bed that gave no real wiggle room, and slowly questioned his life. It only took three minutes for him to need movement.

“I can’t do this,” Jim declared, pulling himself up and squirming around, tucking his arm under his head and resolutely trying to _not_ accidentally hook his foot under one of Spock’s. The Vulcan’s only reaction to all of Jim’s rolling around was to turn his head and look at him.

“Are the sleeping arrangements not to your liking, Captain?”

“It’s Jim when we’re off duty, Spock. How many times do we have to go over that?” Spock made no move of acknowledgement or attempt to try at the not-even-new name, so Jim continued. “And yeah, they suck. How am I supposed to sleep on my back like that? I’ll really feel like I’m on my deathbed if I try it like that.”

The mention of a deathbed got Spock moving like nothing else Jim had said did, and he watched as Spock moved up onto one elbow, resituated his legs and torso, and fell back down onto his side all in one smooth, fluid motion that sparked envy within Jim. The guy had the grace of an intergalactic prim ballerina without even trying. Jim stuck his tongue out at the back of Spock’s head maturely before flopping into position himself, but it wasn’t long before he was unhappy with the situation again and started to move once more.

“Something new ailing you?” Spock inquired without turning to face him. Jim continued to move.

“I’m not comfortable,” Jim said simply and wriggled around some more, but after a solid four minutes of moving around he realized this wasn’t going to work. He voiced such, and Spock craned his neck to give him a better view of his ear.

“What do you believe to be the problem?” he asked.

“I’m used to sleeping with people after sex,” Jim admitted, backtracking when Spock tensed up visibly and Jim realized what that had come across as. “No, no. I’m not asking you to pin me to the mattress and rock my world, god no. What I mean is, it’s usually … closer.”

“Closer, Captain?”

“Jim,” he corrected automatically. “Closer like, you know, more intimate. Arms and legs kind or everywhere, less of this statue imitation and more … human.”

“I am only half-human.” Jim rolled his eyes.

“You know what I mean, Spock.” And he did, apparently, because next he was turning towards Jim until he lied on his side to face him. Jim looked back at him and reached out a hand. “Can I? I’ll be careful of all the touchy-telepathy-mumbo-wumbo.”

He gave a short nod, and that was all Jim needed to close in and essentially drape himself around Spock’s personal space, one leg so close it was actually touching Spock’s and arms flopped around his upper torso. He remained stoic up until Jim pressed his face into the pillow by his shoulder, and it was something in that action that relaxed him, melting the intensity that had been in his person a moment before. He sighed minutely and finally uncoiled his hands. Ah, he’d been afraid he’d accidentally bump them or something. Jim understood now.

“All good?” Jim asked.

“Satisfactory,” he got as his reply, and decided it was enough.

That shift he slept uneasily, but far better than he had previously, and it was with that discovery that Jim found himself a new sleeping partner in the form of a half-Vulcan that slowly got more comfortable being next to him in bed. It was a little unusual at first, but once word got out (it hadn’t taken long, gossip travelled alarmingly fast on the ship despite the size) and clarifications were made (no, they were not dating, it was just an experiment, Jim swore), everyone eased into it and the strange looks and little titters of laughter died off, and Jim no longer felt like he was dying all over again every time he closed his eyes. It was a change from what he normally threw himself into, and for once, he embraced that change whole-heartedly.

He still woke some shifts breathing erratically and gasping for air like his life depended on it, drenched in sweat and gaping like a fish out of water in the semi-darkness, his hand clutching the sheets so hard he wondered if one day he might rip them. It’s these times that Jim had the fleeting worry that Spock would declare the whole process too bothersome and leave Jim to his own devices, but each time it happened, Spock merely set the book he had been reading that night aside and got up from the bed, letting Jim to himself to calm down and, then once the embarrassment or waking up like he had had passed, offered him a towel and waited in bed until Jim was clean of sweat and ready to spend the rest of the night awake in bed and working on something on his PADD, a hot cup of coffee on his nightstand and the Vulcan himself back to reading his book like nothing had happened.

Jim appreciated that more than anything, but he never told Spock his. Somehow, he knew Spock knew anyway, and neither of them showed any want to change the rhythm they had started for themselves, and Jim was more than okay with that.


End file.
